Chapter 22: Ink Memory - Hunger & Harmony

Plunged into the waters of panic, my body curls inward. There’s no point in thrashing. I don’t have any fight in me as wrong notes ricochet like bullets.

Blurred figures move around me. Two males, and one female. She’s shouting, but the tinnitus drowns her words. I want to reach for her, but I’m so weak.

Fragments of desperation slice across my senses, and I hold myself tighter. It’s too loud. It’s too bright. I can’t tell if I’m in a stairwell or a hospital room.

“Cadence?”

It isn’t the girl outlined in purple and sorrow. Not the shadowed figures of the boys beside her, either.

“N . . .” I dare to open my eyes. “Niko . . .?”

My whisper can’t rival the storm of static, but he hears me. His fingers graze my shoulder, and I find the strength to look up at him.

Concern twists his features, but something else pools in his eyes.

Understanding.

Stunned, I only stare back. It isn’t any quieter, but the unraveled threads of my heart aren't as heavy with him here. He crouches, not going anywhere as he settles beside me.

I can finally bear looking at the three figures lost to noise. Their pain is my own, but they’re too muffled to understand why.

“This isn’t how it was meant to sound.”

All I can do is nod in response. Niko’s right. I don’t know why, and I don’t think he does either.

Our eyes meet again. His hand splays out for me, and I take it. He’s not going anywhere. I let my head rest on his shoulder.

When I open my eyes again, I’m home.

The last rays of daylight spill through the blinds, dappling cold amber across my luggage and orange shag rug. Sunveil will always live up to its name, even in November.

Stretching my arms out and wiggling my feet under the blanket, I can almost pretend it’s the first week of my new job again. The first breath of freedom with the entire world at my fingertips.

No prophecies, blood, or shared dreams.

I roll over, and my eyes fall to the phones on my nightstand. They couldn’t be more different. My work phone is black, sleek, and the latest model. I’m pretty sure my personal phone is its great, great, great grandparent, and the yellowing clear case and faded stickers show that. Still, they sit next to each other, equally useful.

Equally terrifying.

I don’t have to think about it. I push every and any thought out of my head, replacing it with affirmations and the sound of my humming.

Maybe I can’t outrun everything that’s happened. But if I push on, shower, and smile into a protein bar, maybe everything will give up and go away.

I don’t know who I’m fooling. Definitely not the bond beating within my ribcage.

As I chew the last of my breakfast, my eyes betray me. They drag closer to the door. I’m still in my bedroom, now sitting at the bare, wooden desk. Sunlight is fading, and so are my bubblegum lies.

I know Niko’s right there. If I concentrate on him, I can see him outlined against my bedroom door. Standing with his back against it, arms tucked and eyes closed.

Waiting? I throw my wrapper in the bin and let my forehead hit the top of the desk. No, he’s trying to be helpful.

I hate that it’s working.

We only got back yesterday. The company building was swarmed with cameras, both reporters and fans flocking to every entrance and window they could get to. It was a fight to get to my apartment, and may or may not have involved a siren song.

The safety within these walls is false, though, and the silence is even more so. I don’t want to look at the headlines. I’m more scared of any message from Viola. Not sure if my parents have said anything, but I just can’t face it.

My world has shattered, and the entire actual world has thoughts on every part. Judgement, excitement, jealousy, and entertainment. It doesn’t matter what angle someone has; it all makes me queasy. The finale was broadcast, and I lost count of how many people saw it after millions of views on multiple posts.

Dissonant. Cadence Monroe. Red-headed human. Not human? Niklaus Vane’s well-kept secret. Betrayal. Blood. Bond.

Every speculation builds in the comment sections when I barely know what to think. So, I deleted all my socials and turned my phone off. If Arteria fans think I’m some spy sent to destroy their favorite rockstar, they’re in alignment with the Midnight Court. Sancte Noctis may have hunted quietly, but Sunveil is chewing and spitting me out in broad daylight.

If only I were as cool as these comments say I am. Though I’d go for a lot of boring over anything else right now. I ache for one night of normalcy.

I straighten my spine and glance back at the door. He’s still there, like some kind of lost puppy. That thought almost tugs up my lips.

Everything’s a blur, but he’s a constant. I almost forgot what life was like without him. My fingers twitch, and I internally groan. No, I don’t want a hug, and I’m definitely not opening the door.

“Cadence?”

I gawk at the maple wood when his muffled voice sounds from behind it.

“Are you eavesdropping?” I huff, and there’s a beat of silence.

“It’s . . .not really eavesdropping if it’s involuntary, right?”

My eyes roll.

“Open the door.”

I’m not as stoic when I can see him. He doesn’t come close, simply leaning in the doorway with his eyes trained forward. His hair is back in that adorable headband, a black tee and jeans are all he needs to look good. It’s a little unfair.

Everything about him is unfair. He’s the answer to my pain, the salve for every wound. No one person should have that power over me, immortal or otherwise. I don’t want my fragile heart in his unwilling hands. I’ll write my own fate, thank you very much.

It’s not like he wants it, either. But we don’t say much and acknowledge nothing. Two against one bond, right? Maybe we’ll win.

“Lorelai checked in earlier,” he says after many minutes of silence.

“Yeah?”

“Next Friday.” His crossed arms tighten. “We’re doing another show.”

“Already?” I mumble, and he shrugs.

“Apparently. Something about appeasing the masses.”

“What date is that?”

I could grab my phone and check, but that’s the last thing I want to do.

“The fourteenth.”

“What’s today?”

“The eighth,” he says, and I sigh.

“That’s not much time.”

My shoulders slump. Will we be able to do something about this bond by then? I let my fingers drum on the table, trying to think. Even if I search it up, I’m pretty sure there’s no blog or MeTube video guide for this. With only six days until a public appearance . . .

“Wait.”

I snap my head up.

“Today’s the eighth?”

“Uh . . .” He blinks. “Of course?”

It takes me only a moment to file through my memories.

“It’s your birthday!” I gasp, watching as he pauses in confusion. “The eighth of the eleventh month, yeah?”

“Oh,” he says, nodding slowly. “It is, yes.”

I know he isn’t confused about the date. It’s my enthusiasm that has his eyebrows cocked.

“Shouldn’t we do something?”

“Why?”

When I frown at him, his confusion turns to flat-out alarm.

“Why? Because it’s a special day, and you should at least acknowledge it!”

“Well . . .”

He leans back against the door with an awkward grimace. I point at him.

“C’mon, you can think of at least one thing to do.”

His frown deepens as he really tries to give it thought. My symptoms are all but gone as I watch him struggle to answer. Even my smile has returned because this is fun. This is normal. I’ve hardly met a guy who knows what he wants to do for his birthday, and vampire royalty isn’t an exception.

“What would you do if it were your birthday?”

I huff on a laugh. Of course, he has no ideas.

“Hmm . . .”

The chair squeaks as I lean back, tapping my chin thoughtfully.

My hometown gets its first snow in December, and since my birthday falls close to the holidays, it always felt like everyone was out of town or busy with the season. I don’t hate winter, but I always wanted to wander downtown, get free birthday treats, and do whatever caught my attention. That’s hard to do with no one to join you, and ice and snow on the sidewalks.

“Let’s go to the boardwalk!” I say. “It’s nighttime, so you’ll be fine.”

I can see the gears clunking around in his head.

“Won’t everyone recognize us?”

Unlike him, I don’t have to think too hard. My grin widens. His curiosity swings back to terror.

“Who said anything about going as ourselves?”

* * *

We’re maybe the only people wearing sunglasses under a half moon, but no one has looked twice at us. A combination of hats, jackets, and‌ trusty sunglasses, and our disguises are working surprisingly well.

“See? Told you it’d work,” I say to him.

We walk side-by-side, ambling along the boardwalk with no plans and no urgency. Niko’s shoulders are relaxed, and through the scarf, hat, and sunglasses, I see his ease. Maybe I feel it, too. The rhythm of our bond has settled.

“I never come here,” he murmurs, and I follow his gaze to the ocean.

Saltwater ebbs against the sand, roaring gently amidst the hum of activity and sporadic music. Despite it being Saturday night, there’s nothing dense about the crowds. People gather at the restaurants and shops to our left, and chill under bistro umbrellas to our right, but we remain in a quiet pocket along the path.

“I’ve never been,” I reply.

I don’t mention the promises made with Viola to come here together. My stomach twists at the thought of her and what she must now think of me.

Niko glances down at me, and I clear my throat awkwardly.

“Look,” I say, pointing to the men busking up ahead.

A small crowd watches, clapping and enjoying. Hands drum along bongos pleasantly; a few singers and guitarists set up, too. Their song is rhythmic and uncomplicated, and I wish I had brought cash.

Niko stops. Too far for the live band to notice, but he’s watching them, listening intently. I brush my shoulder against his playfully, and our hands bump, too.

“Music that isn’t my own.”

I watch a smile curve his lips. I can’t help but join him on that.

We stay until their song blends into a couple more. When it feels right, we exchange a glance and keep walking past.

Silhouettes of palm trees line the navy horizon. There aren’t many visible stars with this much light pollution, but we’re not looking up, anyway.

“How’re you holding up?” I ask when we’ve meandered further than I thought we would. Freedom is addicting.

“This . . .”

He slows to a stop. We stand in a patch of shadow, graffiti coloring the wall next to us. There’s no need for whispering here. The sizzle of food carts and distant music from their speakers gives us privacy.

“Cadence,” he says, like he’s trying to find the right words.

“Yeah?” I ask, tilting my head.

“Hold on.”

His hands come up to my face, and I blink when he slides off my sunglasses. When he takes off his own disguise, I’m hit with the force of how gorgeous he is. Burgundy eyes linger on mine, and I’m suddenly so shy to stand face-to-face with him.

He doesn’t have to be done up in leather and eyeliner. There’s no need for his crown or the finest fabrics. Just a baseball cap and the random navy jacket I found for him are enough.

I shouldn’t do this to myself. He just looks so soft in the shadows of this boardwalk.

“This time is borrowed,” he says, and my heart squeezes. “But this is the best birthday I’ve ever had.”

His gaze lowers to my lips, and I instinctively lean towards him. He’s still holding our silly disguises, and his hands flex like he wants to drop them. Maybe I want that, too.

“I’m glad,” I say, fidgeting my fingers. “Happy birthday, Niko.”

He’s grinning so hard, it’s making me smile.

“Thank you.”

This moment lingers between us, as delicate as the cotton candy spinning down the path. If only we could bottle this feeling. This pure joy with no audience, no Court, and no expectations. I feel it written over my heart, and as I stare into his eyes, none of those things matter.

“Is . . .” I swallow hard, needing to get a hold of myself. “Is there, uh . . .”

Call it a red string of fate, or just the magic of the moment, but we’re drawing closer. My hands find his chest, and his lips are only a breath away from mine.

“Is there . . .?” he hums, tone dangerously teasing.

“Niko,” I whisper, swept up in his cologne again.

My eyes flutter closed, and I hold onto his shirt as he leans in.

A loud jingling breaks the spell. Niko pauses, and I pull back, flustered as I search for the source of that noise.

“O-Oh,” I say, gesturing lamely to the door that just opened a few feet from us. “A tattoo studio.”

“Huh.”

When he slides my sunglasses on for me, it’s painfully intimate, and not even the November breeze can cool my face.

“Wanna go in, cherry cheeks?”

I pause.

“Go in? And get a tattoo?” I ask. “For you or me?”

“Either of us?” He shrugs. “Let’s see if there’s anything we like.”

He slides on his disguise again, and before I can answer, he’s walking towards the door. A neon sign indicates it’s open, even at this hour. Walk-ins are welcome, too.

“Just like that?” I ask, jaw dropping when he disappears into the shop. “H-Hey!”

I hurry in after him. The sharp scent of disinfectants and ink hit me, and I cough into my scarf as I take it all in.

I’ve never stepped foot in a tattoo parlor, but it’s obvious he has. Niko looks in his element, already browsing the displayed art and eclectic knick-knacks. Bold, colorful posters crowd the red walls, and the buzz of machines blends with laughter.

“Hey there,” the woman behind the counter greets, grinning at us as we approach. “Too cool for the dark?”

She laughs good-naturedly, and it eases my initial worry. We do look pretty ridiculous, but she slides over a thick binder with no other comment.

“Walk-ins at this hour are only flash appointments.” She opens it up, and I marvel at the various designs she flips through. “Basically, ready-made designs with set prices.”

I lean on the counter, getting a better look. Her purple nail taps on a random sheet.

“Let me know if you see anything you like. We’ve got an opening.”

She wanders away, giving us space. I glance up at Niko, our bodies huddled as we flip through designs.

“See anything?” I ask, and he hums.

“Not really.” He nudges me gently. “Do you?”

“Me?” I shake my head. “No, no, I’m not getting a tattoo.”

He chuckles gently.

“Why not? I thought you liked adventure.”

“But that’s permanent,” I say, idly flipping through the pages. “That’s different.”

“Ah.” He nods. “Of course.”

I don’t know why, but it’s embarrassing to say that. Like I’m childish and can’t handle commitment. I want my cake and to eat it free of any consequences.

My ears burn. Isn’t that kind of what brought us to this point?

“Well . . .”

I nudge the book away, flipping one last time before I close it.

“Anyways, we should⁠—”

My words die in my throat when I see it.

The design isn’t loud or as stylistic as some of the others beside it. In fact, it’s delicate; the fine lines create a tiny butterfly. It’s mid-flight, wings spread and antenna forward as it heads left.

“Adorable . . .” I murmur, leaning in closer.

“You are,” Niko says, and I gasp.

“Hey, I’m not actually considering it.”

His laughter sounds before he leans closer, his body pressed into my right side.

“Which one?”

With him right next to me, it’s like the last piece of a puzzle slotting everything into place. We’re bound to each other, so why does he feel like freedom?

I huff a little.

“I’m not gonna point it out because I’m not getting it.”

“That’s the first step of getting a tattoo: denial.”

“You’re making that up,” I say with a laugh, rolling my eyes when his arm settles around me.

“Just show me.”

Caving, I rest my finger over the butterfly. His hand falters on my shoulder, and I glance over at him.

“What?” I ask. “I think it’s cute. Minimalism and all that.”

“Yeah,” he says, and I spot how wide his eyes are behind the shaded lenses. “You like it?”

Puzzled by his sudden stillness, I can’t even joke.

“I do.” I lean against him. “You okay?”

His head turns, and even if I can’t meet his eyes, my breath is stolen. There’s an intensity beneath his skin, and it’s not bad.

“If you want it . . .”

He doesn’t have time to finish the sentence.

“Ooh, a butterfly?” The woman says as she comes back. My finger is still on it. “Great choice.”

“You should get it,” Niko finally says, giving my shoulders an affectionate squeeze.

I pause for a moment, staring down at the simple design. I’ve never gotten a tattoo before. Will I choose forever on a whim? What if I don’t like this design years from now? Butterflies are pretty, but what if it doesn’t mean anything?

“Yeah.” I nod slowly. “Let’s do it.”

“Awesome,” the woman says, sliding the binder back over. “This is one-of-a-kind, too. Once you get it, we take it out of the flash options.”

Mine. The tattoo is all mine.

“I’ll hold your hand,” Niko says, and I let my smile return.

“Please do.”

He offers it, and I hold onto him without hesitation. His hand feels like home for mine. He’s not going anywhere.

We’re on borrowed time. So, I’ll etch this moment into forever, and turn memory into ink.